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Charlie loved her new bathroom. It was grander than anything she'd ever had, even though she'd always lived in grand places. She was obsessed with it, had taken to letting herself soak in her palatial tub for hours to let go of the stresses of the day. It also had wonderful acoustics, of course. It was her personal slice of heaven.
Right now though, it was covered in blood — and she wasn't alone. The bath mat had been kicked away but the puddle on the floor was rapidly approaching it once again. Alastor sat on the stool she kept by the vanity, dress shirt open.
He had tried to hide the wound Adam had left him, jagged across his chest. He had succeeded for a few weeks. But it kept bleeding, despite his attempts to fix it.
Charlie may be a little non-observant but even she could notice an uptick in Alastor laundering bloodied shirts. So she'd pressed him on it, and he admitted to it through gritted teeth. She had been mad — of course she had been mad! — they were partners, in their strange way, and the fact that he had been hobbling around half dead instead of just asking her for help… Stubbornness is a curse. However, as someone just as stubborn, if not more, Charlie knew she had to try and help.
So now he was in her bathroom with more skin exposed than he preferred, much of it raised with goosebumps from the air. His breaths were shaky as she lined up the curved needle again, her off hand steadily glowing with a golden light as it imbued the surgical thread with her power.
Alastor had tried with his own power to close the wound but it hadn't held for long — so Charlie offered her services, even if they weren't as refined as she'd like yet. He had accepted on the terms that she wouldn't numb him while she worked. So she hadn't.
Charlie was honestly shocked every time he reacted to her needle, even if the twitches and shaky breaths were small, she was so used to his performer's poker face. Seeing the mask move even a hair was almost unsettling in its vulnerability. She decided not to read too much into it, at least until he spoke to her about all of this in a way that wasn't him trying to deny that he desperately needed help.
He had been self-medicating with a glass of whisky, and she had started to hear the rocks clinking against its interior harder as his hands took on a tremor. Whether he was going to voice it or not, Alastor was closing in on his limit.
Charlie wasn't finished, nowhere near it, but she neatened her current stitch and finished off for the moment to let him breathe. They hadn't spoke since she started but his eyes, dark with pained focus, watched her closely as she drew back.
"Charlie" he spoke, strained voice echoing slightly in the large, opulent room. "You can keep going."
Charlie delicately placed her tools down and stripped off her gloves. She shook her head, giving Alastor her best disappointed look as she chided him.
"Al, it's okay if you need a break — this thing is insane," she gestures down at his chest, emphasising the bleeding elephant in the room, "We're taking a break. I have to clean up a bit anyway…"
Her eyes fall on the puddle that had gathered on the floor underneath him. Charlie didn't have much experience with blood, but she knew this amount wasn't normal. It must have another curious thing about sinners that she had yet to learn… or maybe just him. Alastor's blood was dark, almost black, and there was just… so much of it. The puddle was threatening to run closer to her shoes now, deep red streaking over the white tiles.
He had assured her that it was normal, but it still unsettled her to watch him lose so much just from a bit of pressure and her needle. She had brought plenty of clean rags to clean up as she went, but after he soaked through them in seconds she had just let it pool. It had become a future Charlie problem.
Unfortunately, future Charlie and present Charlie were suddenly one and the same. To let him catch his breath, she decided to try and clean it up a bit. She started with the rags, letting them soak up as much of the wet mess they could hold. If she was stronger in the magic department, she knew this would be no problem — just snap her fingers and send it all somewhere far away.
That wasn't in her wheelhouse at the moment though, and the thought of calling up her Dad and asking him to clean up a floor full of sinner blood from the new bathroom he'd just helped her build. Yeah… no.
So it was rags and the great hellish tool — her spin mop and bucket — for now. She'd break out the chemicals later to strip away the red sheen the white tiles had taken, but this was a good start.
Alastor sat and watched her as she swept the mop on the floor between his legs, raising his feet slightly when she got close to let it slide underneath. He sipped at his whisky and let a hand wander over the glowing golden threads that held some of his skin closed.
It was a warmth completely foreign to the warmth he was used to from his body. He shivered ever so slightly.
"It's just going to get bloody again, you know." he spoke, slightly less strained now as he released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
Charlie dunked the mop back into the bucket, the cleaning water now dark and murky. She laughed, credulously.
"Oh yeah, I know. From what I can see already, this is just going to keep getting messier so I'm happy to get ahead. And, well, cleaning as you go isn't just a rule for the kitchen!"
"And what would you know about kitchen rules, Madame Chef?" his smile slipped into something mischievous in an instant, "Next time I need a roast chicken sewn up and then burned to a crisp, I'll definitely call you!"
Charlie laughed so hard she snorted, "Stop it! I don't make a habit of suturing my ingredients! …and part of the chicken I made last week was technically edible, ok…" her smile fell as she ran through the memory, a small shiver taking her over, "at least cleaning up after it was easy enough, I just had to shake the soot into the garbage."
Alastor nodded in mock solemnity, smile never fading, "Fat Nuggets ate like a king that evening, yes."
"Al if you weren't literally bleeding out over my floor right now, I'd punch you."
The humour in Alastor's eyes sharpened, "Oh, Really?"
He set his glass down on the vanity next to Charlie's supplies.
"Try me, Princess."
He held his arms out and beckoned her closer. Charlie just looked at him like he was stupid.
"Alastor."
"Charlie."
"You cannot be serious."
"Of course I'm serious. Anyone else would have already taken the shot, you know?" he let amusement colour his voice as he goaded her.
The delicate scabbing that had tried to form over the open parts of his wound had started to bead up with fresh blood as it cracked with his movements.
Charlie shook her head, stepping just close enough to playfully tap him on the arm.
"Got you! Better tell Voxtech I totally beat your ass!"
He offered a breathless laugh as the movement became too much, hot rivulets running down his torso again. "Oh I will, don't you worry."
Alastor picked up his glass again as Charlie eyed the flowing blood with concern. It dripped from his skin to the floor, blooming in strange patterns as it met the water that remained from her cursory mop.
"I better get back to it, huh?" Charlie mused idly, setting aside the mop and assuming her position again.
"Better, yes." Alastor replied, clipped. Even as far from the norm as he was, he wasn't the type to enjoy bleeding all over the floors of his close allies. Especially the beautiful ones.
Charlie slipped on a fresh pair of latex gloves and readied her tools, delicately sparking up the glow of her rudimentary healing powers that she was imbuing the thread with. She was ready again in an instant, only hesitating when she met Alastor's eyes again and saw the exhaustion creeping in.
"Al… I can always numb it. This doesn't have to hurt this much." Charlie spoke, tone low and coloured with genuine concern.
He replied quickly, almost speaking over her. "No thank you. I know what I can handle, darling."
"Alright," Charlie wasn't convinced, "But if you need a break, just tap me if you don't want to say it. I really don't want to feel like I'm torturing you or whatever…"
She let out a polite chuckle, but there wasn't really any humour in it. She wasn't really partial to being used a tool for his self-flagellation, but she did know from her redemption work that everyone has different needs after traumatic events — so that was all she would say on the matter. Charlie trusted him to not take this too far.
Alastor just nodded in response, letting her concern wash over him. When he was ready, he ducked his head to the side in submissive invitation to his impromptu surgeon.
"Thank you again, for trusting me…" Charlie spoke quietly into the space between them, not expecting a reply.
Steeling herself, Charlie settled herself back into position and got back to work.
For her to get proper access, they had to be close. The wound was in probably the best place for Alastor, in that he didn't need to sit in too much of an uncomfortable pose for Charlie to work. He just had to lean back a little over the lip of the tub behind him.
But it made the animal part of his mind tense, exposing all the most sensitive parts of his un-life to potential danger. All while he was vulnerable and bleeding. Not to mention being in front of someone that he knew was powerful, could pose real danger.
The rational part of his mind, however, knew Charlie would never hurt him, and if she ever had cause to it would be armed with more than a suturing needle… but his hackles still raised. What made it ever so slightly better was getting to feel her warmth, so close to skin he rarely even exposed to himself in the privacy of his own room. It made her power settling into his chest feel less foreign, the way it lit up her whole body with its warmth. Radiated it outward, like sunshine.
It may have just been the very excellent whisky, but the way her slow measured breaths hit the sensitive skin around the wound set something alight in the back of his mind too. He wasn't much interested in exploring it, but he was happy for it in the current moment — It took the edge off the pain, ever so slightly. He appreciated her care.
They settled again quickly, Charlie working carefully in silence. The air between them only filled with the occasional sharp gasp or grumble from Alastor, still desperately clinging to his resolve.
Charlie could tell Alastor was trying to keep his head titled away from her, not wanting his heavy breaths to invade her personal space. It made her smile privately to herself, what a gentleman. Out of the corner of her eye she caught his blood splash up as it hit the floor, soaking into her shoe. This was getting a lot messier than she'd thought it would.
As she got closer to the widest sections, the pressure grew a little. Both in the natural sense, in that she needed to make sure her technique didn't falter, and in the supernatural sense — the more thread she used at once took more of her power in turn.
The effort took over her thoughts. She felt sweat prickling at her hairline, sliding down the back of her neck. Her breaths, already slow with her measured patience, tightened.
At the apex of a particularly challenging stitch, Charlie's hand slipped slightly, tugging the thread hard. She hissed at the error.
Alastor whined.
Charlie's head shot up so hard to meet his eyes that her neck cracked. His face contorted with pain for just a second before straightening out to his usual smile.
"Sorry!" she squeaked. Her hands were already moving to fix the thread.
Alastor just hummed in response, willing his muscles to relax after the startle. Charlie had it handled, but his resolve was slipping just enough that he couldn't mask his reactions anymore. Troublesome, but not the end of the world… she hadn't kicked him out yet!
It was an easy fix really, but the awkward jolt had started up the bleeding again bad.
Charlie, in her moment of mild panic, hadn't clocked it until she lost grip on the thread that was now soaked with Alastor's ichor. It spilled out in a flood.
"Holy fuck!"
Charlie could only swear and watching dumbly as her the fabric of her pants at her lap soaked through. She had unconsciously tucked herself closer to Alastor in her focus, positioning her gloved hands and legs straight in the path of the egregious amount of blood that was now running from the wound. It was so warm.
What really shocked her though that in this quantity, it had a smell like the iron of regular human blood edged with sulfur and a tarry, sweet note that she couldn't place. Alastor felt so demonic to her, so familiar, sometimes that it was only half-bathed in his blood did she get reminded that he had been human once. His was a soul shaped by a kind of life she'd never achieve, his blood carried it's scent.
At the end of the day, he was a human soul underneath her unending, immortal one. Her breath caught, stunned, thinking about everything she'd never know about him.
Alastor, however, seemed quite unaffected by the sheer amount of blood he was losing.
"Well… that's unfortunate," is all he offered the room, "Sorry about your pants."
Charlie shook her head in an attempt to clear it, "Ah… It's alright, I've got plenty spare. Are you okay?"
Alastor just scoffed. "You look more shaken by this than I am, darling. Do you need another break?"
"Al, that's not an answer." Charlie crossed her arms, unimpressed by the deflection.
She regretted the move immediately, any control she tried to have over the conversation immediately dissolving in her disgust. Her gloves, soaked with blood, now smeared it over the sides and rolled up sleeves of her white shirt.
"Jeez, I would have dressed more for the occasion if I knew you bled waterfalls…" she mumbled under her breath.
Shaking her hands in her frustration, she just ended up cringing more as small splatters of the ichor flew and caught on her face and hair.
"I don't think I'd take too kindly to a surgeon in a Hazmat suit, honestly." Alastor muses, letting his eyes drag over Charlie. She was sat so close to him he could lean forward and smell her if he felt like it, completely soaked in his blood. Sleeves rolled up, latex gloves covering her delicate hands bearing her needle and thread.
The most powerful woman he knew, flushed face flecked with blood. His blood. No, he wouldn't change that for the world. The present and grounding pain at his chest was worth it for this.
Charlie sighed in defeat.
"I guess the whole ensemble is doomed. Let me get back to work, Mister Blood Bag," Charlie grumbled.
"Of course, Madame Butcher," Alastor smiled.
"Hey! I'll stab you!" Charlie laughed, pinching the needle and jabbing it very threateningly at him, like a vicious little mouse.
"I'd hope so! All that stabbing is putting yours truly back together!" The tension in Alastor's shoulders had pretty much melted, pain now taking the back burner as the amusement took over.
"Damn right, now sit still. I've got a lot more stabbing to do!"
Charlie bit her lip as she got back to work. Now intent on remaining steady, a part of her mind pleased that she had managed to pull Alastor's mind away from the pain for a moment. Not before causing him more of it of course, in true clumsy, Charlie fashion.
It took way longer than she'd thought, but Charlie got it done. The ugly wound was now a set of neat golden stitches that held a faint but recognisable glow. Alastor had finally listened and tapped out for a break a couple times closer to the end, but it went smoothly overall. No more waterfalls, at least.
As she sat back in finality, the bathroom came back into full focus. It was still cool, private, and the blood that had soaked into her clothes had long since lost its warmth and dried into a gross crust. Every sensory nightmare that had settled over her body since she'd started working hit her awareness at once and she barely held back a gag.
Before she dealt with it, however, she had to stop this deer from bolting. She could see it in his posture, in the way that his eyes flicked to the door, that he thought this was over.
Alastor smiled lazily as he tentatively moved his stiff muscles, truly exhausted.
"Well, thank you very much Charlie. Next time I'm in need of surgical talent I'll call your name!" he laughed as he made to stand, "Again, sorry about the blood."
Charlie's hand shot out to grab his wrist before he could move away. She shot him a deathly look.
"Alastor, sit down. We're not done yet."
"Whatever do you mean?" he gestures to his chest, "It's done! Huzzah!"
Charlie's free hand itches to facepalm, but the bloodied glove that remained on it stopped her. Just barely.
"I have to clean you up and dress it properly. You're not just going to be have fresh stitches rubbing against your shirt while you run around like a maniac… I'm not risking that opening again."
Her tone was serious, matter of fact. The reasoning was so simple Alastor couldn't wiggle around it without looking like an idiot. So he sat down with a huff, like a scolded child.
Charlie smiled in victory, pausing for dramatic effect for she knew she had to say next.
"Strip."
Alastor's face blanched. "What?"
"You heard me, I need to clean you up and I'm not washing you in your clothes."
"Charlie. I can clean myself just fine," his eyes fixed on a point just over her shoulder, suddenly forgetting all rules of eye contact.
"That's not what I'm saying, Al," Charlie switched up immediately as she noted the fear sneaking into his tone, "This is part of the help, I promise."
She stood and watched him process this next move, capturing eye contact when he finally gave into the need to read her expression — To judge whether she was being serious right now.
Charlie was, deadly serious.
They'd seen each other in the nude before, in brief moments. Both of them enjoyed a full suit for work and for everyday activities, but even the most staunch individual has to undress for the evening. Enough impromptu sleepovers had won him a key to her room, and so circumstances aligned just so. It was practical.
Basically, it wasn't a big deal to Charlie and he knew that. Right now he was sore, had to be very delicate and most of all — absolutely exhausted.
The look in her eyes told Alastor everything she was thinking, and he knew she was right. The prospects of the stitches holding with him trying to bathe himself right now were absolutely not good. He had to just relax, let her take the lead… and his tired mind was liking the sound of that more and more by the second.
After a tense moment of silence, he nodded. "Alright, Charlie. I'll stay, but run the bath before I strip. I'm not going to sit here naked and shivering."
She laughed, exasperated but grateful, "Of course, of course. Thank you."
Charlie got to work immediately, starting the task of getting the bath full of warm water. It was huge, so it was going to take a while — Alastor was right to give it a moment. Thankfully that bit of time meant she could quickly whip out the mop again and sort out the rest of the blood. As well as finally getting to strip off her gloves, put away her kit. The worst was over.
The calm of the moment felt so strange after the stressful events of the last couple hours. Alastor sat quietly, watching the tub fill, letting his eyes drift over Charlie as she methodically cleaned his blood off the floor. The Princess looked so strange, armed with a mop instead of her trident, but honestly he liked the image — a look at what she was like in those private menial moments that no one got to see.
No one but him, apparently.
Alastor smiled a little wider at that.
The tub was full after a short while, the tile floor — now blissfully free of blood puddles — having almost fully dried. Charlie made sure the water level wasn't too high so Alastor didn't have to put too much effort in keeping himself up. She turned to him and smiled.
"Okay, now strip. Please," she nodded, gracefully.
She turned to give him privacy, watching as the steam rolling off the warm water filled the air.
It looked amazing. Charlie didn't have a lot of soaks that weren't super sweet smelling — but she found something still a little fruity, but with a wintry spin that she knew Alastor would appreciate to add some aroma to the bath.
Spices, cinnamon, brandy, pomegranate and cherry. What a wonderful smell, much better than what remained of Alastor's blood mixing with the chemical hit of her apple air freshener. Much, much better.
Alastor let out a soft grunt as he struggled with his clothes, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Do you need help?" Charlie asked innocently, projecting her voice over her shoulder.
"No, no. I'm okay." Alastor sounded a little frustrated, but ended his assurance with a victorious gasp as the sound of his pants and belt hitting the floor filled the room.
"There we go."
Alastor took a step up next to her, now nude. Charlie turned and smiled, offering her his hand.
He took it without complaint, letting her guide him steadily into the bath. He hissed as his body adjusted to the warm water.
Charlie tried her best to not let her eyes linger, trying to focus on her duty. She succeeds mostly, but she can't resist studying the hundreds of scars that have made their home on Alastor's body. So many of them only almost certainly only looking so bad now because of a lack of proper care. It made her wince.
He didn't seem to notice her ogling as he settled down, letting his tired muscles soak up the warmth and properly relaxing for the first time in… a while. Charlie watched him closely, adding a little more water once she got a clue of how much he displaced. Her fussing drew out another tired smile from Alastor as he leaned back in the tub.
As she shifted, she felt the way her blood-sodden pants pulled at her skin once more and realised she'd had enough. Before she could think better of it, she shucked them off and kicked them into the pile that Alastor had left.
He looked up at her a little puzzled. She was now dressed only in her dress shirt, creatively finger painted with his blood and her plain underwear.
Charlie just cocked her head to the side, "What? You're comfortable, I'm getting comfortable. All of these clothes are going straight into the incinerator anyway… they're basically more blood than fabric at this point."
Alastor laughed, "Touché."
As she shifted the stool he had been sitting on up next to the tub, Charlie noticed Alastor's eyes tracking the scars of her own on her thighs. They weren't as haphazard as his, neater and thin, not from the battlefield. Some in the obvious pattern from the claws on her hand, others not. But all had been cared for and only told of themselves by the way they caught the light. Golden threads.
If he thought anything of them, he said nothing.
His eyes shifted, nonchalantly and with no guilt for staring, up to Charlie's. As she got herself sorted, he tried to move his arm up to pour some water over his exposed shoulder. The pain shot through him hard enough for him to give up on trying immediately.
The universe was telling him it all plainly now — no amount of grinning and bearing it was going to push him through into being able to do this on his own. He had to let Charlie help.
Charlie held his eye contact as he gave it, smiling a little too smugly as she watched him try to keep up his usual act, only to admit defeat.
"Alright," she adjusted her sleeves, making sure they were securely rucked up to her elbows, "Let's get you clean."
She dipped the washcloth in the water, starting from higher up on his clavicle. The warmth hadn't had its chance to reach there yet and she didn't need him half frozen. Charlie was gentle, wiping away the sweat and blood that had matted itself in the soft fur that fluffed up his chest. It made him shiver, but the discomfort quickly melted into the rest of the satisfaction.
It was a slow process, and quiet settled over them easily once again. It was as she said, a part of the help she had offered.
She gave it readily, with no hangups, no desperate deals offered to such a powerful soul in his moment of pure vulnerability. Alastor's tired brain was split, half unsettled by the eternal anxiety of waiting for the other foot to drop — the other half plied by the warm water, the beautiful scents, and deeply enjoying feeling the tension release from his muscles. For once, the anxiety seemed to be losing.
Not only the anxiety, but that constant pain that had been itching at his chest since he was injured was slowly being dulled by Charlie's power, by the care she put into her work and the care afterword.
That's what did it, he melted into her touch.
Charlie made an effort to focus on everywhere but the tender flesh around her stitches first, washing away the ridiculous amount of blood that clung to his skin, caught in his hair and fur. It was stubborn on his stomach, where most of it had spent hours accumulating.
She had to press a little harder, working the washcloth lower over his stomach until she was working at the soft tuft that had stuck out over his pants and had gotten a little matted and gross. Her concentration breaks only when she hears him whimper.
Charlie smiles at him gently, "Does that hurt? Sorry…" she lightens the pressure, moving the cloth away from his skin and focusing on the actual fur, "That better?"
He hums, pleased. "Thank you, Charlie." His voice is breathy, far away.
It carries a weight that makes Charlie nod in quiet acknowledgement. So, so stubborn.
"Of course, Al, always. You just had to ask."
His next hum is more of a purr that settles deep in his chest.
Charlie continues dutifully, letting him drift off into satisfied, safe slumber while she worked.
Alastor slept comfortably in Charlie's bathtub. After she finished, she changed out some of the water to warm it up again, letting him sleep for a while longer.
While he slept, she took the opportunity to quickly shower. It felt so good to strip off the rest of her blood-stained clothes and feel the heat of the water over her body, to work the matted blood from the ends of her hair.
In this moment, she was thankful for her incredible amenities in this moment for a different reason than she'd ever thought of before. The fact that the shower was fully encased in glass had always bothered her a bit, but right now she was happy that she had full view of Alastor in the tub.
His head lolled gently to the side but was supported by the structure of the tub and he remained properly above the water level. But her eyes wandered over every minute or so to check on him, or to trace lines over his cheekbones, settled as they were without straining for a smile for the first time in a while.
Charlie thought then about how stupid it would be if she'd put in all this effort to help fix his chest wound for him to slip down and drown in the bathwater. Could sinners even drown? She honestly had no clue. The brutal train of thought made her giggle and mumble to herself as she worked her soap into a lather.
She took her time. Alastor had needed gentleness to finally calm him after the exorcist's attack… so right now she let herself have some too. Just while no one was looking.
The sweet haze of Alastor's nap faded from him as fast as it had come on, his fuzzy brain pulling him up out of the dreamless sleep to react to the creak of the pipes as Charlie finished her shower.
The first thing he saw were the wicked scars that ran over her toned back and shoulders. Now those were battle wounds, surely. He then got an eye-full of her figure as she spun around, humming a tune only she could hear.
Any polite thing he could say died in his throat as he choked on his spit. He coughed hard, and then groaned harder as it ignited the dull pain that his sleep had let him forget for a moment.
Charlie pulled her towel around herself, face alight with a smile that was almost completely in her eyes.
"Well, Good morning to you too!"
Alastor's voice was rough when he spoke, cheeks flushed, "Good Morning, darling." He shifted in the warm bath as he roused, ready to move again, pleasantly surprised that the water seemed to still be quite comfortably warm.
Charlie started drying herself briskly, "Let me get dressed and I'll help you up, ok?"
"No, I—"
Charlie just shot him a look. Alastor stopped in his tracks.
"Alright, but don't be long Miss Morningstar — I have meetings! Things to do!"
Charlie walked out of the bathroom, calling over her shoulder.
"I'm sure you do, Al!"
Her tone told the world that she wasn't letting him out of her sight until tomorrow, at the very least.
When she came back in, Charlie was dressed in pyjama bottoms and an oversized band shirt for a band that Alastor had never heard of. It was a stark departure from her usual formality. Alastor also noticed she had some extra clothes slung over her arm.
"What are—"
"Uh, uh. No peeking!" Charlie chided, laughing. She rested the unusual pile of clothes down on her vanity.
It was far enough that from his low vantage point in the tub that Alastor couldn't tell what she'd picked for him. His curiosity fought with the knowledge that at least one of the options was going to be something ridiculous… Right now, he found that he didn't mind that as much as he usually did. Hm.
Charlie took the lead again as she shifted back into caring for him. She drained the tub, rinsed him off once more and helped him stand. Where Alastor felt like a drowned rat, Charlie only saw the most adorably pitiful thing in the world.
Before he could snatch it from her, she wrapped him in the fluffiest towel she had and got to work drying him. Any protests he tried to raise died instantly as she worked her same firm but gentle touch over him with dutiful rigour, drying skin and fur in equal measure. Rather than irritation, it just made him feel… safe.
She hadn't washed his hair because she didn't have his products, so there wasn't much for her to dry up there; but Alastor found himself secretly wishing she had. That vulnerable ease taking the forefront letting him crave the touch of her careful fingers working the fur at the base of his ears in his moment of thought. It made his mouth a little dry, the way she got under his skin. Her presence disarming the guard that he had built up over decades of struggle in hell and on earth.
Trust didn't come easy to him. But he trusted her, and she had proven again that had been a worthy risk to take.
After he was dry but before she let him pick his clothes, she got to work wrapping the settling stitches in gauze and bandages. She did let him keep the towel however, tucked around his waist. Charlie worked carefully still, making absolute certain that nothing wouldn't rub or irritate the stitches as Alastor moved around.
When it was done she pressed her hands lightly over the bandages.
"There. It'll definitely scar but it hopefully won't keep cracking open and ruining all your clothes…"
Alastor breathed deeply, adjusting to the pressure.
"Thank you again Charlie," a measured breath, "For what it's worth, also, I'm sorry. For making you worry." Alastor's apology was awkward in his mouth, bitter and strange.
But it meant to the world to Charlie, any anger that still simmered melting away, leaving only satisfaction at a job well done. Someone close to her that wasn't suffering anymore, thanks to her.
"It's alright, Al, you came to me eventually. That's all that matters, as long as you don't get into any wild battles in the next two days I think it'll be ok…" Charlie replied, not having the right words for everything she wanted to say, but managing those.
"Now," her smiled turned that particular kind of mischievous that Alastor had come to fear, "what should I dress you in I wonder? A shirt and pants a few sizes too small, my loveliest nightgown, orrr…" she held up what appeared to be a hellish superhero costume, complete with a mask, "Hm?"
Alastor surprised her by replying without complaint.
"I'll take the nightgown."